


Put Forth Thy Hand

by feverishsea



Series: To the East There Is a Mountain [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo took off the crown last of all and turned it over in his hands before giving it back to Thorin.</p><p>“It is heavy,” Bilbo said, and Thorin nodded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Look

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is here [here](http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/); come say hi!
> 
> Thanks to nazgullow for her [amazing artwork](http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/post/74658699777/nazgullow-thorin-gifts-bilbo-the-chain-mail#tumblr_notes), which inspired the turn for the bedazzled this fic took.

“What’re you so cheery about, then?” Bofur gave Biblo a friendly pat on the back, but he was chivvied along the long hall by Nori before Bilbo had a chance to answer. Bilbo turned on his heel and waved after them; Bofur gave Bilbo a queer little half-smile over his shoulder and tipped his hat, then disappeared around the corner.

It was as well that Bilbo hadn’t gotten a chance to speak, so he couldn’t regret it overmuch. After all that had and had not happened, it still seemed strange to be on such good terms with the King Under the Mountain as to be summoned to his personal chambers.

Even though Bilbo had climbed on the table and started babbling away at dinner a week hence, he hadn’t seen Thorin since then, except in far-away glances over food and in the stone halls. He hadn’t done what he’d done for praise, but all the same when a short dwarf knocked on his door that morning and delivered a summons and a suspicious glance, Bilbo had been hard-pressed to keep from smiling all day.

As he drew nearer to Thorin’s rooms, Bilbo was struck with the thought that this might well be the norm. Thorin was a proper king now. What time would he have for one small out-of-place hobbit?

Bilbo frowned down at his sleeve as he tugged his shirt into order. He would simply have to find more ways of making himself useful then, he vowed, and knocked on the large door.

Perhaps it never would have occurred to Bilbo that it was somewhat strange to be plotting ways to claim Thorin’s time, or perhaps the door was pulled open too quickly, but either way the thought never crossed his mind.

“There you are, Halfling.” Thorin smiled down at him, a proper smile that warmed Bilbo from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It was a rare sight, and Bilbo tried to press it into his memory. Metal clanked and furs shifted as Thorin stepped aside to gesture Bilbo in.

“Here I am,” Bilbo said, linking his fingers together behind his back and tilting his head up to smile back at Thorin, who shook his head with a bemused sort of look and shut the door.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Thorin propped his hands on his hips, glowered, and said, “What in Mahal’s name am I going to do with you?”

Bilbo would have been taking aback, but there was a hint of humor behind the glower, and that kept his courage up enough for him to venture, “Reward your cleverest of burglars for his cunning?”

The solemnity on Thorin’s face broke apart and he laughed in earnest, quick but still enough to rumble through Bilbo’s bones and settle there, buoying him up under his breast.

“So you want a reward for interrupting my dinner, do you?” Thorin chuckled. He walked over to a large chair that sat by the hearth and unceremoniously dumped the weight of the furs from his shoulders, then unstrapped the shining bracers from his arm. Seeing the solid curve of Thorin’s shoulders and the long dark line of Thorin’s forearm suddenly appear made Bilbo’s pulse jolt. Surely he’d seen more of Thorin on the road many times. But this, watching Thorin slowly strip off his royalty next to the flickering light of the fire, felt different and strange, and very warm.

When Thorin was clad in just boots and trousers and a thin white shirt, he turned to Bilbo again, smiling still. Bilbo took a step closer without thinking.

“So, what is it that you wanted, then?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo’s mind went blank; for a second he could not recall any notion of what Thorin was speaking of. But then he remembered babbling nonsense in the face of Thorin’s glare. He blushed.

“I was only joking. I don’t actually want anything, don’t be silly. I didn’t do that much.”

Thorin raised one thick eyebrow and gave Bilbo one of those looks that never failed to make the hobbit feel very small. When Thorin turned away, Bilbo felt a mad urge to cry out, to take back his words, so long as Thorin would keep looking at him.

There was a chest of drawers near the bed, and it was to this that Thorin went. He opened up one, and then another drawer, and then looked over his shoulder and gestured to Bilbo with a jerk of his head. For the first time in many months Bilbo felt a very hobbitlike curiosity about other people’s homes rise up inside him; he wandered closer, wondering what Thorin kept so near to him.

“Oh,” Bilbo gasped, as soon as he saw inside the wooden chest. Because - of course, and yet…

“Beautiful, are they not?” Thorin asked, though Bilbo could not help but notice that his tone was brusque, and he did not look overlong at the dazzling jewels littering the bottom of the drawers.

Bilbo swallowed, his mind connecting the dots. “I - well, yes, they are, but, um…”

Thorin was raising his eyebrows at him again. Bilbo failed to resist the urge to scowl.

“Yes, but what?” Thorin prompted.

“But… but they are not for hobbits,” Bilbo finished lamely.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Thorin’s expression was blank, so that Bilbo had no idea what the dwarf was thinking. It meant there was time for Bilbo to stare at Thorin’s exposed forearms again, and then look away, and then wonder how he ever ended up in this position, a respectable Baggins of Bag End, in a dwarf king’s personal room looking at his jewels that were worth no doubt twice the Shire.

A slow smile, almost lost in his dark beard, curved over Thorin’s mouth. “So, you think these jewels are not for hobbits, do you?” he said.

Bilbo opened his mouth and was just able to say, “No - ” before the first necklace landed around his collarbone.

It was heavy; Bilbo let out a huff of air and looked down to see huge chunks of fire-bright stone hanging from his neck. He looked up at Thorin, who was grinning at Bilbo ludicrously, like he’d won some sort of victory.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes and glared. “Take it off,” he ordered, and reached up to do it himself.

But even when he had to reach into the chest to pull things out, Thorin was faster than he - Bilbo couldn’t even grasp the necklace before Thorin had grasped one of his hands and slipped on a bracelet thick with glittering blue jewels (maybe sapphires? Bilbo surely didn’t know).

“Thorin…” he complained, and of all things, Thorin put a shining gold crown on his head. Bilbo caught a glance of large, rough hands retreating from his head, and heard Thorin chuckle, deep and low and impossible to resist.

He should have saved his bewilderment for this, Bilbo thought, and let his hands drop to his sides in defeat, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with the king. Now he was not just a Baggins looking at kingly jewels, but a Baggins clad in them, and he could think of little more ridiculous than that.

Bilbo lifted his head to look at Thorin and tell him, but when he saw the expression on Thorin’s face the words died in his throat.

All the mirth was gone; Bilbo could not see any amusement left in Thorin’s face. The dwarf was simply staring, his head tilted a bit to the left and his mouth just slightly open as though he were thinking hard on something, dark eyes burning as they stared unrelentingly at Bilbo.

His stomach clenched and Bilbo lost the fight not to take a step backward.

Thorin followed him, but Thorin’s steps were much larger than Bilbo’s, and before Bilbo could back away any further a hand came down on his shoulder, trapping him. Bilbo tried to swallow away his fear and his mouth was too dry to do so. He tried to tug off the bracelet with one hand, hoping it wouldn’t make things worse, but Thorin’s other hand came down and stilled his.

“You look as you ought to,” a rough voice said in his ear. It took Bilbo a moment to hear him properly through the panic, and when he did, he blinked in surprise and looked up.

Oh, but Thorin was close; that familiar face was very near to his, and Bilbo tipping up his head to look only brought them closer. Thorin’s hands were not just warm, but hot; it felt as though they might burn him.

He couldn’t look away from Thorin’s eyes. “What - I look as - what do you mean?” he stammered. He could have tried to pull himself away from Thorin’s heavy hands, but he didn’t.

Thorin was close enough that Bilbo could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke; almost close enough for the wiry hair of his beard to tickle Bilbo’s cheeks. He could feel them flush.

He remembered the night Thorin first walked through his door, late and hungry and irritated, scolding Gandalf for his inadequate instructions. He had been the last of many unexpected visitors who had in a few short hours turned his world upside down. Up until then Bilbo had known of the outside world, of course, he’d just never been _aware_ of it.

But then Thorin had knocked on the door, all disgruntled honor and tired insults, and… And in spite of the unfriendliness and dismissal, in spite of everything, a longing for something he couldn’t even really name had awoken in Bilbo, and once it reared its head he could not put it to sleep again.

He’d followed the dwarves and fought for them and cared for them as something very near to kin, but Bilbo was uncomfortably aware that when you got right down to the marrow of things, every step he’d taken had been for Thorin. He’d fought orcs and wargs and spiders, he’d dreamed up insane plans, he’d _endured_ , because… Because more than hearth and home, more than books and learning, more than treasure, more than honor, more than anything that Bilbo had known or heard of, he just wanted Thorin to look at him.

And now, Thorin was looking at him; Thorin was doing nothing but looking at him.

And Bilbo still wasn’t satisfied.

“Um,” Bilbo said, because he didn’t have any actual words yet, but he wanted something even if he couldn’t name it, and if hobbits are known for anything it is that they reach out for happiness with both hands, “um, I…” He fancied Thorin’s eyes grew warmer; certainly they crinkled at the edges as Thorin smiled, and Bilbo reached up to brush Thorin’s bristly cheek with his fingers.

Behind them the door flew open.

“Uncle, we have need of you, one of the silver mines is collapsed and… Oh.”

Fili’s voice cut sharply through the haze Bilbo had fallen into; he yanked back from Thorin without having any good reason to do so. Thorin pulled back a little, too, and looked over his shoulder at his nephew. For once Fili was completely ignoring Thorin and instead gazing at Bilbo with wide, shocked eyes. It took Bilbo a second to realize that he was decked in Thorin’s jewels, and that perhaps that was a little odd.

“Hullo, Fili,” Bilbo tried to laugh, because the situation was a bit absurd, wasn’t it, but Thorin’s expression remained stony, and though Fili smiled, it looked sad.

“Hello, Bilbo. I’ll just - I’ll come back in a minute, alright? I need to - check something. Outside.” He gave a small bow and stepped back out, closing the door neatly behind him.

Silence fell over the room like a pall; without speaking Bilbo drew off first the bracelet and then the necklace, and handed them to Thorin, who watched his actions intently and took the pieces without comment, setting them back inside the chest of drawers.

Bilbo took off the crown last of all and turned it over in his hands before giving it back to Thorin.

“It is heavy,” Bilbo said, and Thorin nodded.

“That it is, Halfling,” he said quietly, and set it away in the drawer as well.

They walked to the door together, but Thorin felt very far away; Bilbo could not feel as though he drew warmth from him anymore.

“So you offer me no reward after all, eh?” Bilbo spoke into the quiet, attempting some paltry levity.

He was sorry when Thorin paused with a hand on the doorknob and turned to look at him again.

Thorin’s eyes were as sad as Fili’s smile. “Because I knew that you did not ever truly want the jewels, Master Burglar, and now neither do I.”


	2. Just a Talk

"And we've had another missive from Dain; he wants to know if we need more supplies before the waterway is completed." Fili pursed his lips and frowned. "He's not a bad sort, but all the same I hate to be beholden to him, or anyone."

“Mmm.” Thorin drummed his fingers along his thigh, fighting the urge to order Fili to hurry it up already and get to the point. Fili seemed to read his thoughts, because his nephew gave him a slightly disapproving purse of the lips before diving into relations with the elves.

And Thorin could hardly scold him for it, because it was Thorin himself who had taught this to Fili.

He remembered the first time that Fili had been old enough to do something truly, purposefully bad. At the time the act itself had seemed so important - Thorin had been so angry - but he could no longer recall it.

What he remembered instead were Fili’s huge blue eyes staring up at him, wary but unafraid, and being perplexed about that lack of fear.

All his childhood Thorin had been a little afraid, always staying quiet to avoid the notice of his erratic grandfather and easily angered father. His mother had died before he had time for aught but vague memories of a smile. It had always just been Thorin, alone, ducking quietly backward through rooms until he was tall and strong enough to stand firm and accept what was dealt to him when he disobeyed reckless, mad commands.

As Fili watched him, anxious but without that cold certainty of fear, Thorin had sworn he’d never see that look in the eyes of his nephews.

So the ritual went that when Fili and Kili misbehaved, they all sat down and Thorin talked until his anger was gone, and sometimes by the end of it he understood what they’d done a little better. (Sometimes there was no understanding; sometimes children were just stupid. Sometimes near fully-grown dwarves were just stupid.) Then, when the anger was gone, Thorin would decide their punishments.

Thorin had grown up in the shadow of madness and his nephews had grown up in the shadow of a crown, but Valar help him, they’d seemed to thrive.

Looking at Fili now, even through the muddle of his thoughts, for a moment Thorin couldn’t be anything but grateful that they’d come this far.

“… And Uncle, I am sorry, but I have to ask what you think you’re doing with our Hobbit. Do really think it - ”

“Enough,” Thorin growled, the tenderness swept away in an instant. He’d spent a life ceaselessly searching for work, for food, for home, and he had found it, and even now he could not rest. If one small Halfling gave him comfort with his crooked smile and honey-warm smell, what business was it of anyone’s?

He half-rose from his chair and then thought the better of it; settled back down. Fili leaned against the wall, hands locked behind his back so that his shoulders arched as he looked sideways at Thorin.

“This is - whatever you are doing, it is m- it is a mistake,” Fili said, his voice low and insistent over the humming crackle of the fireplace.

Thorin glared at him. He opened his mouth to ask Fili what he had really been about to say, to insist that he spoke the words.

Fili blinked and ducked his head, then looked back up in appeal.

“Uncle, please,” he whispered, and the rage flew from Thorin so fast that he couldn’t care whether he was being manipulated or not.

He opened an arm, the way he used to do when his nephews were small, and beckoned. Fili came willingly and sat beside him on the stone of the hearth, slumping a shoulder into the circle of Thorin’s embrace.

After a moment Fili spoke, his voice frustrated and confused. It had been a long time since Thorin had heard him so uncontrolled, and he took care to notice, for Thorin thought wistfully that soon his nephew’s control would be more perfect than any dwarf that had ever lived, and he would never again witness pain or fear or any emotion Fili did not wish him to see.

“I don’t understand. We spent our whole lives waiting for this chance, and we are here, and you don’t want it.”

Thorin didn’t know what to say, so he tugged his nephew closer. He cast his eyes around the room - a different room than any he had occupied, or even remembered from the Erebor of the past. That Erebor was long since gone; the kingdom he thought he was fighting for was crumbled into dust, and he was left ashes to build with.

He did not taste ashes on his tongue when the Halfling stood close; did not have the spare thought to contemplate all that he had lost.

“Are you upset with me for shirking my duty, or for overfamiliarity with the hobbit?” Thorin murmured, trying to keep his voice as light as he could. He had never been much good at comfort, for himself or for others.

“Both,” Fili snapped, but he leaned into Thorin a little harder.

Thorin sighed. He more often felt overyoung than old, but this night he felt his age pulling his down into the earth and tugging at his bones. “I am sorry, heir of mine. Someday the throne will be yours, and you will be a better king than I, and you will never understand.”

At that Fili pulled away and turned to face him, his blond hair reflecting licks of the flame behind him. Thorin hoped desperately that when the time came their people would not reject this odd lad, pale and quiet and without the solid stubbornness of rock that was so common to their people.

When bright jewels were set in a crown of gold, dwarves looked at the jewels. But gold was just as precious in its own way; it could at once hold fast and give way without losing itself. Gold would hold together a rack of jewels in harmony, when diamond would chip everything around it to pieces before giving way to the slightest hint of pressure.

Thorin had always thought of Kili like diamond; a proper, stubborn dwarf, if overly quick to laugh and sing. Kili had the charm of the whole family allotted just for him; even mortals and elves had but to look at him to love him.

Fili was different; his subtle ways were as foreign to Thorin as they were to the rest of their kin. But Thorin was not so old and unyielding that he could not sense the value in that. If not a worthy king, at least he was still a craftsman. All that was gold did not glitter.

“You say these things, Uncle.” Fili clasped his hands tightly into fists and seemed to be controlling his breathing. Slowly in and slowly out, steady as a drum. "You say them like you think you make a poor king. But you do not; you must know you do not. So it has to be that you do not _want_ this and - you always said - I just - is it Bilbo? You want to… leave? Your kingdom should be enough!” Fili was on his feet now, not yelling, but those eyes flashing ice.

It should be, Thorin supposed, and yet it was not; Thorin had lived but a handful of years with a throne in sight, and near two hundred years as a laborer, not a king. Perhaps it was no surprise that he was inadequate for the task, that it was all he could do to hold together enough threads to keep the whole tapestry from collapsing.

“Peace, nephew,” he said, raising a hand. “I am going nowhere.” He pretended not to see Fili’s shoulders sag in relief. Oh, his nephew would be a fine king one day - the king this kingdom deserved - but not yet. Give him a little time to grow first; buy him a little more time without the weight of responsibility crushing him slowly into the ground. Fili would bear the weight more gracefully than Thorin ever could, but still Thorin would spare him that, as long as he might.

“It is not fair to Bilbo to treat him with anything less than honor,” Fili went on doggedly, braced as if for a blow, though without any true worry behind it. Thorin had at least earned that; if he had brought nothing but pain to all others who came near (Bilbo most of all, perhaps), he had never done aught to harm his nephews, and if it was a small point of pride, still it was his. One thing done right in a lifetime of missteps was still one bright spark left.

“Yes, thank you, I appreciate your concern. But this truly is none of your business, and I will not thank you for meddling in it,” Thorin warned. His nephew sighed in defeat and made a face.

“Very well, but I warn you, should any other dwarf walk in upon you draping him in jewels like a - ”

“I suspect it would be unwise for you to finish that sentence, Fili. Enough. We are done here.”

His nephew sighed again and bowed, and made his way to the door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob (which seemed familiar) and turned back.

“It’s worth it, right, Uncle?” Fili asked, for a moment once again as earnest as the little dwarf lad that Thorin remembered.

And in spite of everything - in spite of the neverending crises, in spite of the image of a Halfling draped in jewels and smiling up at him burned into his mind, in spite of Thorin’s own uncertainty - there was only one answer.

“Of course it is,” he said, because then Fili finally smiled again. 


	3. Just a Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

“Relations with the elves have worsened!” Kili announced with a wide grin.

For the second time in altogether too short a time, Bilbo narrowly avoided falling off the Gate.

“I was being alone,” he pointed out, not bothering to hide the testiness of his tone. This was not the happiest of places, and he was not currently the happiest of hobbits, and where in all the blazing hells had Kili come from?

“So you were!” Kili reached out and bodily plucked Bilbo off the ledge, ignoring all protests. “But you looked rather miserable, so I think you may have been doing it wrong."

"There's times to be miserable," Bilbo muttered, and Kili gave him a sidelong glance.

"I think you’ve been spending too much time altogether with my dear Uncle," he said, and Bilbo had no reply to that.

The Gate didn't frighten him anymore. After all it was just a place, and Bilbo had survived worse things; quite frankly even Thorin's rage couldn't quite compare to an actual dragon. But the sight of the place ached worse than the dragonfire had when it licked his heels. Bilbo felt better when they turned away and began to stroll back toward the mouth of the mountain.

And how was that, that a hobbit might be comforted by the prospect of being swallowed up by the earth? Quite improper, no doubt, though Bilbo had long ago lost the right to dictate what was and was not proper.

Lost in his thoughts, Bilbo forgot about the dwarf by his side until an arm snaked around his shoulders and yanked him against Kili's solid side. He looked up to see Kili grinning down at him insistently.

"Chin up, Master Burglar! Honestly, look at you. Months spent cheerfully cursing all and sundry on the road, and here we are with food in our bellies and fires in our hearths, and now is when you weep."

"I'm not weeping," Bilbo said, because that much at least was true. A big hand slapped him hard on the back and he coughed.

"Excellent news!" Kili teased, and Bilbo was very much not in the mood for this sort of sport, but Kili was absolutely irrepressible. Dwarves were supposed to grumble and snarl, not give cheeky winks. Thorin was a proper dwarf, and by all the Valar, when did Bilbo start finding that in any way attractive?

He scrubbed both hands over his face and scrunched up his eyes. He wished very much that Kili had just left him alone at the Gate. Misery couldn't last around Kili, but Bilbo was fairly certain that he had to be miserable right now, so one of them was going to have to leave.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go... faint again or something. Thank you, good day." Bilbo tried to push past, but Kili caught his arm, and then caught his gaze, and Bilbo was quieted by the unexpected sympathy he saw there.

"When I said you were spending too much time with Uncle, I meant it," Kili said gently. It was easy to forget sometimes that Kili was not so unlike his brother; both of them altogether more subtle and amiable than a dwarf should be. "I am sorry, Bilbo, but I do not think he will allow himself happiness even for your sake. I do not think he can.”

The words jolted Bilbo as hard as a blow would have; he jerked away from Kili and blinked. Yes, something had shifted between Thorin and himself, but... But... Bilbo wasn't sure what. Nobody had said anything out loud, perhaps, and so Bilbo had been happy enough with Thorin's attentions, and not allowed himself to think on it any further.

He couldn't help remembering early on in their journey when he'd clumsily steered his pony near to Gandalf, huddling into his cowl from the bitter mind, and shouted, "I hope there's an inn along this road!"

Gandalf had given him a stern look followed by a quick smile and said, "Hope is a dangerous thing, Bilbo."

And wasn't that the truth? Bilbo stared down at his bare feet on the mountain stone. He forgot himself sometimes, he knew. Right this instant he was being surly with a Prince of dwarves, and never had he thought twice of it.

What right could he have ever imagined he had to the heart of a king?

But he only said, “Forgive me, Kili, but I'm afraid that isn't any of your business. Or mine, for that matter."

Kili sighed and looked pensive for a moment before brightening back up again. "I'd say it's your business if it's anyone's. You're fucking him, aren't you?"

Bilbo's eyes flew open wide and when he tried to answer, he choked and had a coughing fit that nearly killed him, as Kili attempted to help by pounding him enthusiastically on the back.

"No!" He finally gasped out, waving Kili's hand away. "I most certainly am not, not that it's any of your business either!"

Kili looked baffled. "What, really? Mahal on his throne, neither of you really do know how to have any fun."

"You're too young for this conversation. I'm too young for this conversation.” Bilbo rubbed his temples. Kili burst out laughing.

"I've been old enough for his conversation for several decades now, Master Boggins. And I imagine I'll go on being old enough for it for many more. Honestly though, what have the two of you been doing, trading tender glances and sighs? Ah well, I suppose it's all to the good, really. Makes things easier."

Bilbo shifted from foot to foot uncomfortable, as that actually did rather closely resemble what they'd been doing. It just hadn't seemed so ridiculous before Kili had said it out loud.

Kili eyed him; his expression softened. "Or maybe it doesn't," he said.

"Well you're one to talk," Bilbo blurted out, desperate for a change of topic, even if it came at the expense of Kili's comfort. "You've got your own... you know... troubles.”

To his surprise, Kili looked honestly baffled. The dwarf knitted his eyebrows together in a frown.

"I'm sorry, Burglar, but I can't recall myself ever being quite that foolish," Kili said, gentle enough to take the sting out of it.

"But what about - that elf maiden - Bofur said- " Bilbo couldn't actually remember what Bofur had said, but he was sure the words "star-crossed" and "lovers" had been in there somewhere.

Kili raised a thick eyebrow. "What about her? I'm hoping to see her again, but the Valar know I'm not keen to throw away everything I've fought for to run after a lass that might tire of me in a day. And - Bilbo," Kili's dark eyes were sympathetic, "it's different with the two of you, even were Uncle not a king. Two warriors, well, it happens, but not loudly. Elves and humans, maybe even dwarves and hobbits... but if there's no possibility of a bairn at the end of it, that's the end of a line. Even moreso if you happen to be a king."

He'd known that, of course, but the words still ached. The hurt made him want to argue, to fight it, powerless as he was against a mountain of tradition.

"But- but- " Bilbo sputtered, "How can that be dictated? I thought that dwarves were supposed to, you know - that they had just one love, or - or some such thing." He tried to fight down a blush. He certainly didn't want Kili to think that he thought Thorin had - or would - or - oh, bother.

"Yes, well, the elves are supposed to be all of them goodly and wise, but then there's Thranduil and his prancing git of a son, so there you are." Kili caught a glimpse of Bilbo's face and smiled, not unkindly. "I'm sure that's quite true for Uncle, and Fili too if he had room in his heart for aught but the kingdom. But some of us, like me, are simpler folk who just like a good ale and a good shag. We can't all be heroes of old, you know."

"And what happens if the heroes of old love unwisely?" Bilbo carried on, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

Kili touched his hand carefully. He still smiled, but his eyes were solemn.

"Then those that love them pay the price, or so I’ve heard,” Kili said, and crushed Bilbo into a hug when the hobbit's shoulders slumped.


End file.
